


Recursion

by SaltCore



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Hurt Jesse McCree, Hurt/Eventual Comfort, M/M, Protective Hanzo Shimada, Time Loop, heavy angst with a mostly happy ending, non-permanent major character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-08-21 07:45:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16572530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaltCore/pseuds/SaltCore
Summary: What was supposed to be a simple mission goes sideways in the worst way. Hanzo sits trapped in a burning building, and Jesse lies limply in his arms.  He wasn't supposed to lose Jesse this way. None of this was supposed to happen at all. The smoke builds and the sirens scream and then—Hanzo wakes up.(Please, mind all the tags and the author’s note!)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I felt it was better to err on the side of caution with the archive tags, so while all the MCD is non-permanent and the ending is happy (considering), there is MCD in this fic. Permanent vs. non-permanent makes a difference in what I’ll read personally, but it may not for you! No hard feelings if that’s the case. 
> 
> This work is meant to be read all at once, but I've broken it up into two chapters because of its length. I highly recommend clicking "entire work" above for the intended experience. 
> 
> Huge thanks to [Mirdala ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mirdala/pseuds/Mirdala) for being the devil on my shoulder throughout writing this!

The alarm screams, the decibels making Hanzo’s teeth rattle in his skull. The smoke around him makes it impossible to see more than about a meter, and the intermittent flashing of the emergency lights only makes it harder. He coughs, but his lungs won’t clear. The air is ash and poison around him.

He tries to push himself up, but his hand slips from underneath him. His head cracks against the floor when he falls back to the ground, and that sends the room spinning. He tries to lift himself again, but his body is clumsy and heavy and so, so tired. His eyes slip closed instead. He’ll open them when the spinning stops. It will only be a moment, and he’s not alone. He has—

_Jesse_.

His eyes snap open. He can’t see Jesse, but he had been right there. He tries again to get up, and this time he manages to get to his knees. There is pain, but his rapidly building panic drowns it out. He pushes himself to his feet, gritting his teeth, but one of his legs crumples underneath him after the first step.

No matter. Hanzo crawls, uncoordinated and slow, to his left. He can’t see for the smoke, can’t be sure, but he thinks Jesse was to his left. His hand bumps something, something softer than the rubble. He has to stare at it for long seconds to recognize it for the smoke and flashing lights, but it’s a shoulder. It’s Jesse’s shoulder.

Hanzo reaches out and shakes him. Coughs again but still can’t clear his throat. It hurts so badly to cough. Jesse doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move. Hanzo shakes him harder.

“Jesse. Get up, Jesse,” Hanzo pleads. Jesse doesn’t respond. Hanzo tries to push himself to his knees, plants his hand in something wet to do it. It soaks into his pants once he’s up and kneeling. Hanzo doesn’t understand at first what he sees when he lifts his hand to his face. It’s coated in something dark and tacky. Jesse’s laying in a pool of it.

Hanzo’s seen enough blood in his life, he’s startled it took him so long to recognize it.

Fear, true fear, clears Hanzo’s senses for a moment, and he stares down at Jesse. His eyes are open, staring blankly upward, and his mouth is slack. There’s a twisted piece of rebar jutting out of his chest.

The smoke has nothing to do with why Hanzo can’t manage his next breath. Frozen, he stares at the rebar, uncomprehending. He reaches out a shaking hand, places it on Jesse’s chest. It’s still, utterly still.

Nothing exists in that moment except Hanzo and the awful truth.

He drags Jesse’s—Jesse’s body into his lap. The weight of him is familiar but the stillness is wrong in a way Hanzo didn’t know was possible. He sits there and stares down into Jesse’s unseeing eyes and trembles, while the alarms scream and the smoke builds, contending with the magnitude of his failure to protect the man he loves.

Hanzo doesn’t see, but behind him a wave is building. Something in the universe shears, letting a white light crash forward to swallow up the smoke and the sound and the burning building. It engulfs Hanzo without him even being aware of it, and it washes everything away.

 

* * *

 

In the wash of white, there are filaments of living lightning, curling through and around Hanzo, cocooning him. This Hanzo sees, but he will not retain the memory.

The wave begins to recede, ripping Jesse’s body from his arms and taking everything else around him with it. The dragons dig their claws dig in, and they hold him in place, singing one word over and over—

_Remember_. 

* * *

 

Hanzo wakes all at once. His hand is fisted in the sheet, the rest of the bedding tangled claustrophobically around his legs. Rigid habit forces him to assess his surroundings before moving—a dark, non-descript hotel room, a sliver of light from the bathroom, soft humming. It’s the same place he went to sleep the night before, and the humming is certainly Jesse. Hanzo reaches back, feels the sheets. Still warm. He’s only just gotten up then.

Hanzo scrubs a hand down his face. The last vestiges of the dream have his heart hammering in his chest, but his body still feels sluggish. He’s had nightmares before missions before, his mind spinning out all the worst possibilities in the howling dark behind his eyelids. It’s not strange. This one had simply been especially vivid. Hanzo kicks his legs free and stumbles out of bed, driven to see Jesse, to put his mind at ease.

To remind himself that the dream was only that.

Jesse is brushing his teeth, the rustling of the bristles and his humming making a strange harmony. Hanzo meets Jesse’s eyes in the mirror and, sure that he won’t startle him, steps forward and wraps his arms around Jesse’s waist. He leans against Jesse’s back, first pressing a kiss between his shoulders then resting his cheek against the warm skin. Jesse pats the back of his hand lightly, then leans forward to spit. In one ear, Hanzo hears the tap turn on. In the other, Jesse’s heartbeat. Hanzo lets his eyes close and leans a little more heavily into Jesse. He admits to himself that he’d much rather stand here for hours than finish getting ready, but they are here for a reason. They have a mission to complete.

Jesse twists in his grasp, drapes his arms loosely around Hanzo’s neck. The mint on his breath is harsh; Hanzo’s more used to the lingering bite of smoke. Jesse presses his lips against Hanzo’s temple, then leans back a little. Hanzo gives him slack, but doesn’t let him go. Jesse’s soft smile fades, replaced by a look of contemplative concern.

“You feelin’ all right, sweetness?” Jesse asks. His voice is still rough from sleep. Hanzo meets his eyes. A memory of the dream, crystalline in its clarity, overlays what he sees—Jesse’s eyes staring sightlessly upward, the light snuffed out. Hanzo doesn’t let the sick clench of fear show, smiles up at him instead.

“Fine.”

“If you say so. Best get ready, we’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

Jesse steps around him. Hanzo doesn’t try to stop him, but he lets his hands linger for as long as he can reach. He watches in the mirror as Jesse ambles back into the dark hotel room, gait relaxed and unhurried. It was only a dream, Hanzo reminds himself. Only a dream.

 

* * *

 

The intel was good.

Hanzo watches from a nearby roof as Vishkar employees—though they don’t know that they’re Vishkar, there are layers of subsidiaries and shell companies between these people and the corporation—unload a cargo truck in front of a warehouse. No one, Vishkar or otherwise, should be here at all, technically, as the sale of this property has been held up by the city. Zoning restrictions, of all things, are holding Vishkar at bay. At least, officially.

A former colleague of Dr. Zhou’s was suspicious of Vishkar’s intentions with the property. Their concerns were about the impact the corporate use of the area would have on the city’s attempts to restore the river, and so they went and checked and found workmen at the site. Winston, once notified, was immediately concerned about another Rio de Janeiro and was quick to send Hanzo and Jesse to check things out. All they need is proof Vishkar has taken possession of the property—photographs, maybe a video. Easy.

Jesse is below him, smoking in the shade, nonchalant as anything. He’s wearing the same baggy jumpsuit as all the people unloading, and Hanzo doesn’t like it. Jesse is armed, Peacekeeper and ammunition hidden away, but that jumpsuit is an obstacle in the way another disguise wouldn’t be. Jesse assured him it would be trivial to tear through the material, but it still makes Hanzo uneasy. Still, there isn’t anything for it. Jesse needs to blend in. Hanzo will simply have to protect him.

Someone calls out for a break, and the people below splinter off into small groups, seeking shade and water. There are enough of them that one more new face shouldn’t be cause for alarm.

“They’re taking a break,” Hanzo says. “Get ready to move in.”

“Wilco.” Jesse drops his cigarillo on the ground and grinds it out under his heel. “Can’t believe Winston signed me up to hump a bunch of boxes around and called it an op.”

“What, afraid of a little honest work?” Hanzo asks lightly.

“That’s rich comin’ from you, yer highness,” Jesse replies. Hanzo laughs quietly and settles in to keep watch.

Jesse saunters away from his hiding spot, slouching a little to disguise his height. He’s at the ragged edge of being too tall to be inconspicuous, but it’s not insurmountable. Jesse knows how to blend in, better than anyone Hanzo has ever met. He’ll walk over, and no one will think to remark on his presence.

Unless he ‘comes back’ from the break too early. That would be strange. Jesse might encounter the foreman if he was the only one working, and that’s attention best not attracted. Hanzo is unsure of where the thought came from, but it makes him uneasy enough to speak.

“Wait.”

Jesse slows his walk, but doesn’t stop cold.

“Somethin’ wrong?”

“There’s a group at your ten o’clock smoking. They’ll have to cross your current path to get back to the work site. Follow them in, it will be safer.”

“A’right,” Jesse says, nonplussed.

Hanzo relaxes once Jesse agrees. He’s unsure of why the thought of the foreman unsettled him so much, Jesse could fast talk God after all, but it should be no matter now.

When the break ends, Jesse tails the group back, just as Hanzo suggested, takes a place among the workers without incident. For hours, Hanzo watches him and listens to sporadic commentary about the content of the trailer, and the one that comes after that, and so on. It’s unmarked crates, mostly. Unsurprising, but also unhelpful.

Jesse and the other workers have been piling the crates in front of the bay doors of a particular warehouse, but no one has gone in or out. Apparently, that isn’t part of the job. They’re only meant to unload the trucks.

“I think I need to get inside to get a real picture of what they’re doin’,” Jesse says in an undertone. “There’s a door here on the south side that’s unlocked.” Hanzo’s guts clench with fear at the thought. Jesse, by himself, in enemy territory? Unacceptable.

“Wait for me.”

Hanzo hides Stormbow’s case and starts moving, climbing down from his perch. He’s almost reckless in his descent, determined to get to Jesse lest he get impatient and go in alone. Luckily, none of these people are concerned with the perimeter. Why would they be? It’s supposed to be nothing but a warehouse.

But it’s not just a warehouse, is it? There’s something else here. Hanzo shakes his head. Why is he so sure? Perhaps this line of work has given him an unreasonable suspicion of nondescript buildings.

Jesse is waiting for him by the door, just like he said he would. A coil of anxiety falls away. If he can see Jesse then—

Then what, exactly?

Hanzo pulls his bow from its place slung over his shoulder and nocks a sonic arrow. Jesse opens the door and stands aside, letting Hanzo go first. Hanzo fires the arrow toward the roof, waits for it to ping back to his contacts. They draw ghostly images in his vision, but none are of people.

“Clear,” Hanzo says softly, and Jesse steps in behind him and carefully shuts the door. Jesse looks around, a frown forming. The warehouse is strangely empty for all the activity outside. Their contact said they had been unloading cargo trucks for weeks, so where is everything?

“This ain’t right,” he murmurs, shaking his head. Hanzo hums his agreement and looks up, scanning the ceiling for scaffolding. There’s not much in the way of high ground. Jesse tosses his head at the wall to their right. Hanzo pushes past him to go first. They creep around the perimeter, and it remains quiet. Still, Hanzo is ill at ease. Something here is off.

They make it to the back of the building, directly opposite the closed bay doors, and all they find is a small room, build out from the warehouse wall. It’s some kind of office, built out of corrugated metal with a big window set in one wall looking out over the rest of the warehouse. Jesse walks around the edges of the office, then whistles low.

“This is welded to the back wall. Overkill if yer just tryin’ to keep dust off a holodesk.”

Hanzo raps his knuckles against the window—it’s thick, much thicker than it would need to be to simply sit between the occupants of the office and the warehouse. Overkill is right. It’s clean too, without any grime or dust gathering in the edges of the frame. There’s a sturdy door, with a new keypad. Jesse inspects the keypad.

“I betcha this fails open. Commercial units usually do.”

“What are you thinking?” Hanzo asks absently, looking back over the warehouse, trying to put the office into some kind of context. The office appears to be a new addition to a very old warehouse. Why is it so sturdily built?

There’s a crash, and Hanzo spins around. Jesse’s grinning at him, and the keypad is smashed. Jesse shoulders the door open.

The office is mostly empty. There’s a holodesk shoved up against one wall, and beside it something else.

“There are teleporters,” Hanzo says, dragging one away from the wall. It looks large enough to drive a small cart through if active. Or a forklift.

“Yep, and look’it this.” Jesse taps his foot on the floor. Except it’s not a floor, it’s a door. Hanzo’s stomach flips. There is something here after all.

Jesse shrugs off the top half of his jumpsuit and ties the arms around his waist, then adjusts his ammunition to be more easily accessible. With Peacekeeper in one hand, Jesse heaves the door open. The door opens to reveal a stairwell, steel steps winding down lit by red lights. Hanzo takes the lead, stepping down into the dark.

 

* * *

 

“What _is_ all this?” Jesse murmurs. Hanzo’s never seen the like.

There stairs had ended in a corridor, which had opened into more corridors, which had brought them to this vast facility. This is Vishkar proper, there’s no doubt about that. And whatever they’re doing here, it’s already well underway.

They stand on the other side of a door with a window inset, watching people ranging from technicians to architechs toil away. Sprawling equipment in whites and blues sits in a cavernous space, hard-light constructs flitting in and out of existence as needed, with more people and equipment coming through large, stable portals. And this is only the first such door. The facility keeps going far past this point.

“No way _this_ was ever goin’ in any zonin’ permit.”

Hanzo huffs. Well, Winston will be happy about this. He pulls out his comm and snaps a few pictures.

“How did they do all this? The city only just moved to sell this,” Hanzo says.

“Maybe somethin’ was already here. Who knows what got built durin’ the Crisis.”

Hanzo doesn’t have an answer to that. It’s not _impossible_ , it just doesn’t seem particularly likely. But then none of this seems likely.

After all, they got this far with hardly any trouble. It was lightly patrolled by drones, but they’d been able to hide from those. It was the way they’d come to this door, following Hanzo’s gut, that was truly strange. He hadn’t made a single false turn into a dead end or, worse, a Vishkar employee. It was highly unlikely.

“We’ve got what we need, let’s leave,” Hanzo says. He’s uneasy, and his instincts haven’t led them astray yet.

“More than what we need. Lady Luck must be happy with us.”

Hanzo doesn’t reply, and gently tugs Jesse along, eager to retrace his steps back to the surface. Hanzo leads again, his grip tight on Stormbow as his unease builds. He just has to get back to the surface. He can do that.

He’s so focused on not making a false turn he misses the sound of the drone coming up behind them.

“Shit!”

Hanzo lets an arrow fly into the body of a security drone only instants after it fires, but Jesse is on the floor. Peacekeeper is in his hand, but he wasn’t quick enough to get the shot off. Hanzo pushes down the panic that’s starting to build and rolls Jesse over so he can see the wound.

He groans, sounding pitiful, and curls around the weeping burn in his side. A shot from an energy weapon hurts worse than a typical gun shot, in Hanzo’s opinion.

“You’re okay, Jesse.” Hanzo bites his bottom lip and he peels back the burnt jumpsuit. The skin is red and weeping around a hole in his side. Hanzo’s medical training is minimal, and they didn’t bring any biotic emitters; those are all back in their kit at the hotel. They didn’t expect to encounter resistance.  “You’re going to be fine.”

Hanzo just has to get Jesse back to the hotel. Call for assistance, if necessary. Energy weapons cauterize as a byproduct of how they operate, surely that’s mitigated the severity of the wound. Hanzo lifts Jesse to his feet and starts to pull his arm over his own shoulders, but Jesse pushes him away.

“I can walk,” Jesse says through gritted teeth.

“Jesse,” Hanzo starts, eyes fixed on the wound. Jesse starts to put his hand over his side, but fists it in the air instead. He shakes his head and settles Peacekeeper in a two handed grip. Hanzo stares at him for a beat, but he seems steady on his feet. He nods and nocks another arrow.

Hanzo leads them back the way they’d come, alert for _anything_ that could mean danger. Jesse breathes heavily beside him, but he keeps up. Maybe the wound just looks worse that it is.

There’s a noise—a low rumble. The floor vibrates under their feet. The noise is followed by a high pitched whine that Hanzo feels in his teeth.

That noise. Hanzo’s blood freezes in his veins. Something’s about to go. How could he know that? It’s almost as if—

Hanzo has done this before.

“Jesse!” Hanzo screams, jerking Jesse closer milliseconds before a wave of heat and debris hits them. Jesse’s body collides with his, and they both collapse to the floor.

It takes Hanzo far too long to blink his vision clear. There’s a warm weight pinning him down. There are sirens screaming in his ear. There is smoke starting to gather in the air.

Hanzo starts at the thing pinning him down, willing his eyes to focus.

Jesse.

A wave of adrenaline gives Hanzo the strength he needs to pull himself out from under his partner. Jesse makes a noise he’s never heard before as he does—a soft, choking whimper.

It nearly stops Hanzo’s heart in his chest.

There’s a jagged piece of metal sticking out of Jesse’s back. It’s narrow, but it looks deeply lodged under his shoulder blade, near his spine. It could be embedded deep enough to have punctured a lung. Hanzo lifts him off the ground and into his arms, careful not the jar the shrapnel. Jesse stares up with him, wild-eyed with pain.

Even if Hanzo knew what to do for an injury this severe, he has nothing but weapons. He’s not even sure he can move Jesse without killing him faster. He knows he couldn’t do it without causing him more pain.

Jesse gurgles, tries to say something. Hanzo lifts him closer. Jesse’s lips are moving, but Hanzo can’t make out what he’s trying to say.

“Don’t. It’s all right.” Hanzo presses a kiss to Jesse’s bluing lips. Tastes blood. “Don’t try to talk.”

Hanzo’s only seen this kind of fear in another person’s eyes once before, this pure mortal terror. The only perverse comfort Hanzo has is that this time, he isn’t the cause. He lifts his free hand to Jesse’s face, runs his thumb over Jesse’s cheek. Grits his teeth against the sobs building in his chest. He doesn’t want Jesse to have to see him break down. Not like this.

“I love you,” Hanzo’s voice cracks. He can’t stop it. “I love you.” He repeats it while he can. While it matters. Blood soaks his sleeves and pants as Jesse struggles to breathe. Hanzo brushes the bloody foam away from the corner of Jesse’s lips.

Jesse’s eyes slide shut. Hanzo presses shaking fingers under his jaw, looking for his pulse. It’s so weak. Hanzo chokes on a sob. He can’t help him.

All he can do is hold Jesse as he dies.

Jesse’s last breath is nothing more than a soft wheeze. Hanzo feels his heart stop under his fingers, one last flutter and then nothing. Hanzo holds Jesse’s body against his chest and sobs into his hair. He knew this would happen. He’d had the mercy of a warning and he’d ignored it. Now Jesse has paid the price.

He doesn’t see the wave of white coming from deep in the facility, building and cresting, and finally sweeping at all away.

 

* * *

 

Hanzo is upright before his eyes are even open. He sees—but does not truly register—the dark hotel room. He staggers from the bed, his heart hammering in his chest, and bolts toward the sliver of light coming from the bathroom. He wrenches the door open and sees—

Jesse, slightly bent over the sink, brushing his teeth.

Hanzo grabs him by the wrist and jerks him around. Jesse yelps, startled, and his toothbrush clatters to the floor. He stares down at Hanzo with his other hand hanging in the air by his head. Hanzo ignores the stunned look on his face and clumsily presses his fingers under Jesse’s jaw, fumbling for a pulse—it’s there, strong and steady. Nothing like the thready, failing thing Hanzo had to search for, the one that stopped under his fingers.

There isn’t enough air in the bathroom, and Hanzo is frozen in place. He saw Jesse die. It couldn’t have been a dream. It _couldn’t_ have been.

But here Jesse is. Here is this hotel bathroom again.

Jesse slowly rests his hand over the back of Hanzo’s. It’s the prosthetic one, and it’s cold against his hand. Corpse cold. Hanzo shudders.

Gently, Jesse moves his hand. Twists the other out of his grip and takes it as well. Jesse curls them both against his chest, pulling Hanzo closer. It’s just enough to feel grounding instead of confining. Hanzo screws his eyes shut and sucks shallow breaths between his teeth.

It had to be a dream. _Had to be._

Jesse guides him to sit down on the toilet. Hanzo hears Jesse’s knees pop as he kneels in front of him with his hands still gripping Hanzo’s. Bile creeps up Hanzo’s throat. What is happening to him?

He opens his eyes. Jesse is looking up at him with open concern. Not with the fear of a dying man or the blank eyed stare of a corpse. Jesse is alive, and it’s not yet dawn, and Hanzo has frightened him.

“Breathe for me, baby, okay?” Jesse murmurs, rubbing the backs of Hanzo’s hands with his thumbs. Hanzo tries to take a long, steady breath. He holds it in his chest until he’s sure it will leave smoothly. “That’s the trick.”

Jesse waits for him to take a few more before lifting Hanzo’s hands to his lips and then setting them down in his lap. Jesse moves to sit on the edge of the tub, kicking his long legs out. Jesse’s calm makes Hanzo feel foolish. He had a nightmare. He’s hardly unfamiliar with nightmares.

This one had just been so _vivid_. Hanzo remembers it more clearly than any other dream he’s ever had. No nonsensical dream logic, just a bizarre repetition of what his subconscious must expect from today’s mission. The only real difference being—

Being how Jesse died.

But Jesse is alive, close enough to touch, watching him with those sharp eyes. Waiting for him to talk, or to decline to talk. Still, Hanzo can’t shake the feeling, the sense memory of Jesse dying under his hands. He also can’t account for waking up exactly as he had in his dream. Perhaps he’d simply heard Jesse get up, and his mind folded it into its narrative. But still, it’s uncanny.

“I had a nightmare.” Hanzo meets Jesse’s eyes. Hopes that saying it makes it true, makes it only a nightmare. Hanzo can almost _hear_ how hard Jesse is thinking about what to say next. Jesse’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, misses the foam at the corner of his mouth. Hanzo reaches out to wipe it away, lets his fingers linger an instant longer than needed. Indulging himself. Reminding himself. Jesse is alive and well and right beside him.

“I’m sorry,” Hanzo adds.

“Don’t be. Can’t help it,” Jesse says. “How about I make us some coffee, and you get ready?”

Hanzo nods. Jesse gets up, scoops his toothbrush off the floor and cleans it under the tap, then leaves the bathroom. Hanzo moves to the vanity, leans over the sink, and meets his own eyes in the mirror.

No wonder Jesse looked so worried.

 

* * *

 

Hanzo slips a biotic emitter from their first aid kit into his jacket pocket. He makes sure Jesse doesn’t see him do it. He doesn’t want to have to explain himself. He’s not sure he could.

Maybe it was only a nightmare, but it’s such a small thing, why not take it with him?

 

* * *

 

Hanzo watches the workers below and unease twists his guts. This is so familiar. Frighteningly familiar. It’s like the people below him are performing a play he’s seen before; he knows their movements before they make them. Hanzo fists his hand around the biotic emitter in his pocket.

“They’re about to take a break.” The foreman is calling something out. It could be for any number of things, but Hanzo knows with an awful certainty he’s telling his workers to stop. “In ten minutes, you should be able to follow some of them back to the work site.”

“Sounds good, darlin’,” Jesse says. Hanzo sees him sketch a sloppy salute below, his cigarillo still between his fingers. “Still can’t believe Winston signed me up to hump a bunch of boxes around and called it an op.”

Hanzo hums into the mic instead of responding properly. If—if this intuition holds, then it will be hours before Jesse suggests going into the warehouse. Nothing of note will happen until then. He remembers, in his dream, sitting up here poised for action but utterly unneeded. Then being utterly useless.

But it was a dream, Hanzo reminds himself. Only a dream.

At this point in the dream, Jesse was about to mention the door. Was about to go into that warehouse. Was about to—

Hanzo looks around, taking in the whole scene. There is nothing to suggest extra security, or anything suspicious at all. The people below are behaving like normal manual laborers. Nothing in Winston’s intel suggested that this would be particularly dangerous, so long as they didn’t draw the attention of local law enforcement.

Jesse could have handled this on his own.

Hanzo closes his eyes, pictures the unlocked door on the south side of the building. If that was just a product of his subconscious, then perhaps all this anxiety has been for nothing. It would be easy for him to check, only the work of a few minutes, then he could be back watching over Jesse with his mind at ease.

Hanzo looks out again. He can see Jesse below, working away like everyone else. It’s a dereliction of his duty, but—

But he has to know.

Hanzo climbs down to the ground as quickly as he can, skirts around the workers. It’s so easy to hide from people who aren’t looking for you.

There’s a door on the south side of the building. It looks exactly like Hanzo pictured. His mouth goes dry. He tries to tell himself that a door on a warehouse isn’t strange, but his hand shakes as he reaches for the door knob. He prays that it’s locked, but it twists freely under his hand.

His stomach drops.

“Han?” Jesse hisses in his ear. Hanzo must’ve made some noise.

“I saw someone go inside the warehouse,” Hanzo lies. He’s not even sure why he does it. But then, what could he tell Jesse? That he’d had some prescient dream and knew this door would be here, be open?

Never mind that he had and it was. And if there was even a chance of the rest of Hanzo’s strange dream coming to pass, then Jesse must absolutely not go inside.

“Shit, really? Where?”

Hanzo shakes his head, mostly to himself.

“I’ll go. Keep watch out here.”            

“You sure? I could—”

“No.”

“All right, fine. You keep checkin’ in with me until you come out, you hear?”

“Of course.”

Hanzo steps inside. The warehouse is exactly as he remembers from the dream, but he fires a sonic arrow up anyway, waits for it to ping back nothing to his contacts. He walks straight to the office at the back, not bothering to skulk or hide.

“There’s no one in here. I’m taking a closer look.”

He jams an arrow into the keypad in the door, disabling the lock, and hauls it open. Pulls up the door in the floor. It feels unreal, staring down at the dark stairwell, but there it is. Hanzo takes a deep breath then begins his descent.

 

* * *

 

He remembers the way, though it sets him on edge. He shouldn’t. He should have no idea what the security drones sound like. He should have no idea how to navigate the winding corridors.

He finds the door to the real facility easily. So much of Vishkar’s effort tucked carefully underground. How had they managed all this? They suspected Vishkar was setting up operations here illegally, all but sure of their ability to steamroll the local leadership. But this is months of work, maybe even a year. Surely they hadn’t been here all that time.

It doesn’t matter, Hanzo decides. He just has to bring back proof of their overreach for Winston. The sooner the better.

“It’s Vishkar, they’re here,” Hanzo murmurs into the mic.

There’s no response.

“Jesse?” he tries again, but he’s met with nothing but silence.

He must be out of range. These radios, small enough to be practically unnoticeable when worn, aren’t very powerful. His descent underground won’t have helped matters any. Hanzo check his comm—it has signal but only barely—but calling Jesse might draw attention that could endanger him.

No matter. Hanzo takes a few pictures, then turns to leave, to go back up, to collect Jesse, and to put this behind him. The emitter is heavy in his pocket, a testament to his paranoia. Is it so strange, really, that he dreamt about the mission? Warehouses have doors, and sometimes they are unlocked. They expected a Vishkar presence, and they found it. His waking mind must simply be making connections where there are none.

 

* * *

 

Hanzo is just exiting the office when the ground bucks beneath him. He falls, landing hard on the cement floor. For a moment, there is silence. Then, there’s a metallic groan and crashing and one scream Hanzo hears in the air and over his com.

A voice Hanzo would know anywhere.

Hanzo pushes himself back to his feet, starts running. He bellows Jesse’s name. There is a thin fog of dust obscuring the far corners of the warehouse, but he can hear Jesse and that’s more than enough.

He finds him pinned under a mountain of crates and a fallen I-beam.

_He was supposed to stay outside._

Hanzo skids to a stop beside him, falls to his knees. Jesse reaches out, wide eyed with fear and pain, and Hanzo takes his hand.

“I’m here.” Hanzo squeezes Jesse’s hand to keep his own from shaking. “I’ll get you out of here.”

“You went quiet on me,” Jesse says, sounding dazed.

“I went out of range. I didn’t realize.”

“Thought somethin’ had happened to ya.”

Hanzo wants to tell him he can handle himself. Wants to tell him that if he’d stayed outside like Hanzo asked, he’d be fine. Wants to tell him he dreamt Jesse would die here and now it might be happening.

But none of that will help, so Hanzo doesn’t say anything.

Hanzo tests some of the crates at chest level, seeing if they’ll budge. They don’t. Even if they had, he’s worried about the beam. If that shifted toward Jesse, picked up momentum, he couldn’t stop it.

Hanzo looks around, assessing the scene as critically as he can. He can’t simply drag Jesse free, and he can’t lever all those crates off of him by himself. Emergency services will surely notice the explosion eventually, but will it be in time? Will their cover identities hold under increased scrutiny? He shouldn’t risk it if he doesn’t have to.

There, in the corner of the building near the office, is a small forklift. Hanzo sprints towards it, turns it on. He fumbles with the controls for a few agonizing seconds before he manages to set it on the correct path. It groans under the strain on lifting so much weight, and Jesse cries out as the weight shifts, but then he starts to pull himself free. Hanzo hops out and drags him the rest of the way, pulls him far away despite Jesse’s pained groaning. The crates topple, burying the forklift, but they’re well clear of it.

It’s only then that Hanzo sees the trail of red behind Jesse. Hanzo stares down at him. Sinks to the floor beside him. Jesse is pale, so very pale.

It’s then that Hanzo smells smoke. Acrid, like it’s from an electrical fire. The facility below must be burning. They have to get out of here. Hanzo rearranges his weapons to clear his shoulders, and takes a deep breath.

“This will hurt.”

“Huh?”

Hanzo rolls Jesse over, pulls him against his chest, and then maneuvers him over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry. Jesse moans, but Hanzo doesn’t let that stop him. The alternative is unacceptable. He starts walking, as quickly as he can.

“Hanzo, please, slow down.”

“I can’t. Something’s burning.”

The smoke is starting to intermingle with the dust, making Hanzo’s throat burn. Jesse fists his hands in Hanzo’s jacket and tries to bury a whimper in his shoulder. Hanzo walks faster. The sooner they’re outside, the sooner he can stop jostling Jesse.

Outside, there’s the sound of screaming and distant sirens. Hanzo takes Jesse to a row of charging cargo trucks, setting him down between a pair where they’re unlikely to be spotted. Hanzo fumbles for the emitter in his pocket, swears through a false start activating it. Jesse groans as the nanites wash over him, giving him a little relief.

“You’re going to be all right,” Hanzo says. Tries to sound more sure than he feels. He tears strips out of his shirt and starts hunting for the wound. There’s a deep laceration in his thigh that must be the source of most of the blood. Hanzo starts wrapping his makeshift bandage around it.

“Is that too tight?” Hanzo asks.

“Han.” Jesse reaches out, grabs Hanzo by the wrist. His grip is weak. “I can’t–I can’t feel my legs.”

“Just give the emitter—”

“I’ll be dead weight with or without it. You oughta get, ‘fore your caught.”

“I am not leaving you, Jesse.”

“Han, please.”

“No.” Hanzo snaps. “Let the emitter work.”

Jesse stares up at him with an expression he can’t name. It’s miserable and frightened and relieved all at once. Hanzo pulls his jacket off and tucks it under Jesse’s head, then reaches out and runs his fingers through Jesse’s hair, unable to do anything else for moment.

He knew this would happen, he admits to himself. He had forewarning, and still he couldn’t stop it. Jesse is still alive, for the moment, but the red stain on the bandage is still spreading despite the emitter.

Jesse’s eyes slip closed. Hanzo bites his lip, keeps petting his hair. Hanzo watches the gauge on the side drain with gritted teeth. What if he’s only managed to prolong Jesse’s suffering?

The emitter clicks off.

It wasn’t enough. Hanzo can tell by the way Jesse shivers. He is hurt more gravely than a single emitter could help. The sirens are closer now, surely at least one is an ambulance.

“Jesse.” Hanzo nudges him gently. Jesse groans, but he doesn’t open his eyes. “I’m going to get you to a hospital. Just hold on.”

Hanzo picks Jesse up again. This time, there’s no complaint, not even a whimper. Hanzo loops one arm around Jesse’s knee and grabs his wrist. He lets his fingers rest against Jesse’s pulse point. It so weak he almost can’t find it. Hanzo doesn’t let the fear that inspires paralyze him.

Hanzo runs now. As quickly as he can. He spares a glance at the warehouse, sees the windows light from within, not with the orange glow of a fire but with white light.

The last thing he feels before the wave hits is Jesse’s pulse stopping.

 

* * *

 

It’s not a dream.

Hanzo’s eyes snap open, taking in the dark hotel room. He hears Jesse humming nearby. He pushes himself out of bed, pads into the bathroom. Jesse is brushing his teeth.  Hanzo stares. Jesse raises an eyebrow. Hanzo stands there frozen.

If it’s not a dream, then what is it?

Jesse finishes his morning ablutions, winks at Hanzo in the mirror.

“All yours, darlin’,” he says, planting a kiss on Hanzo’s cheek as he walks by. Hanzo twists to watch him. He pulls off his old boxers, shimmies into fresh ones. Digs out the jumpsuit and tosses it on the bed. His are the movements of someone at ease, without the anxiety like what’s taken root in Hanzo’s chest.

“Jesse,” Hanzo starts. Jesse turns to face him, open inquiry on his face. Hanzo opens his mouth to continue, but he realizes he’s not sure what to say next.

The question, _do you remember_ , is there on the tip of his tongue, but he can’t give it voice. Could he possibly be so casual if he did? If he carried the memories of, of dying?  He’s a marvelous actor, but Hanzo knows him. He isn’t putting on a display.

“What, sugar?”  Jesse prods.

“Did you sleep well?” Hanzo asks lamely.

Jesse tips his head to the side, considers Hanzo more thoroughly.

“Like a baby,” he says finally. Sincerely. Hanzo’s shoulders slump. “Why?”

“I thought I heard you get up last night,” Hanzo lies, then goes into the bathroom and shuts the door.

 

* * *

 

Jesse doesn’t remember. Hanzo is sure. He hasn’t asked _explicitly_ , but, still, he’s absolutely certain.

Hanzo doesn’t know why he _does_ remember, but he knows what he has to do—keep Jesse alive.

Hanzo watches as Jesse again tails a group of workers back. Just like last time, he integrates seamlessly. He is wasted on so trivial an assignment, Hanzo thinks absently as he surveys the scene below him.

The explosion is hours out. If Hanzo can get Jesse away from here, then it can’t claim him. But how?

Jesse won’t abandon a mission.

But Hanzo can end it early.

“I see someone entering the warehouse,” Hanzo says. The lie worked last time. His bites his lip, waiting for Jesse’s reply.

“Where? I could follow—”

“No!” Hanzo says with far too much venom. “Keep watch for me, I’ll only be a moment.”

“All right,” Jesse murmurs, sounding unsure. But if he’s agreed, then he’ll wait, at least a little while.

Hanzo moves faster than he has in his entire life, clambering to the ground, sprinting to the warehouse. The southern door is still unlocked, and he slips inside. He neglects the arrow, makes a beeline for the office at the back.

His hand hovers over the keypad. He could simply lie, go back out, try to convince Jesse to leave. If he said he had their proof, Jesse wouldn’t probably wait until the hotel to ask for it. However, if Hanzo couldn’t produce it—

Jesse would be angry certainly, and that would be regrettable, but he might also insist on coming back.

No, it’s better to get it. Hanzo knows the way. He can be quick.

“I see a hidden entrance,” Hanzo says. “Give me an hour, it’s underground and coms might be spotty.”

 

* * *

 

“I have proof.”

“Well, hot damn, sweetness.”

Jesse sounds genuinely impressed. Any other time, it would go straight to Hanzo’s ego, but now Hanzo barely notices.

“We should leave, _immediately_.”

“You sure? Could be a might suspicious?”

“Jesse, please.”

“Okay, okay.”

 

* * *

 

The sight of the hotel should put Hanzo at ease, but his anxiety doesn’t flag. He can barely keep from fidgeting in the elevator, and he practically sprints back to their room. The moment they’re both back inside, Hanzo digs out civilian clothes for Jesse and shoves them in his arms.

“Where’s the fire?” Jesse asks.

“We need to leave.”

“What, you get spotted?”

“Security was tight,” Hanzo says evenly, far more evenly that he feels. “There was a far larger Vishkar presence than Winston anticipated.” That, at least, isn’t a lie.

Jesse starts changing without further comment. Hanzo packs the rest of their things almost frantically, desperate to get back out the door. He shoves Jesse’s bags into his arms and tugs his own over his shoulders. They just have to get back to the Watchpoint, then they can sort everything else out.

“Hanzo, are you all right?” Jesse asks.

Hanzo presses a proprietary hand on the small of Jesse’s back and pushes him toward the door in lieu of answering. Jesse sputters but lets Hanzo bully him down the hall and into the elevator. Once the doors slide shut, Jesse drops his bags to the floor and stands between Hanzo and the buttons with crossed arms.

“What’s gotten into you?” Jesse asks.

Hanzo presses his lips together, unsure of how to answer.  What could he say that Jesse would believe? If their positions were swapped, Hanzo would be more concerned about Jesse’s mental state than what he was saying.

“Something here is off,” Hanzo finally says. He digs out his comm, shoves it at Jesse. “Look, here’s the proof. Isn’t that reason enough to leave?”

Jesse brushes his hand aside gently.

“I believe you about that, but you’ve been acting strange all day.”

Hanzo stares up at him, unsure of what else to say. Jesse must see something in his face, because he sighs and, relenting, presses the button for the ground floor.

“I just wish you’d talk to me,” he mutters.

 

* * *

 

Jesse loads their bags into the rack over their seats then sits down beside him. Hanzo taps his fingers against his knee, impatient for the train to begin moving. The other passengers are still boarding, completely unhurried. Hanzo wants to shout at them to quit dawdling, but he grits his teeth instead.

Jesse has barely said more than two words at a time since the elevator, and that should be tearing Hanzo up inside, but he doesn’t have space for that worry. Once the train starts moving, once he knows Jesse is safe, then he can begin to explain himself. It won’t matter then how insane he sounds.

Finally, an announcement is made, and then a few moments later the train begins to move. Hanzo releases a breath he didn’t even know he’d been holding. He glances at Jesse, catches him staring with an unreadable expression. Tentatively, Hanzo reaches for Jesse’s hand. Jesse lets him lace their fingers together, squeezes tightly when Hanzo pulls their hands into his lap.

“Now is not the time, but I’ll explain,” Hanzo murmurs. “I promise.”

Jesse sighs, runs his other hand through his beard. He looks more tired than angry.

“All right.”

Jesse scoots down in his seat and leans into Hanzo, settling in for the long ride. Hanzo relaxes, little by little, as the train begins picking up speed. The white noise and the gentle swaying of the car are far more soothing than they have any right to be, and Hanzo feels himself begin to drift in spite of his better sense. It feels as if nothing on this train could be as much a danger as the one they are leaving behind.

Behind them, there is a wave of light, growing, building, sweeping out in all directions.

 

* * *

 

Hanzo wakes in the hotel room.

He shoves himself upright, uncomprehending. They hadn’t been at the warehouse. They’d avoided the explosion. He shouldn’t be here.

He hears Jesse’s soft humming, the running tap, exactly like every other time he’d woken here. He sits there frozen until Jesse steps out of bathroom and smiles softly at him. There’s no trace of his frustration at Hanzo’s cageyness, no indication at all he remembers the previous iteration of this day.

“All yours, darlin’.”

Hanzo manages a wan smile in reply and takes the offer bathroom, for privacy if nothing else. He’s sure of one thing in a way he hadn’t been before—something is causing this, and they are trapped under its influence. There is only one path forward. Find the source. Stop it before it starts.

Stop it before it kills Jesse again.


	2. Chapter 2

 

He goes back, over and over. He loses count of how many times.

He learns the route of every security drone, the movements of the employees, the layout of the facility. He doesn’t find the source of the blast. The source of that awful light.

Most times, he loses Jesse. That never gets easier. It _should_ , some perverse part of Hanzo marvels, because bloodshed became easy by repetition in every other part of his life.

But not now.

Every death rattle, every scream, every failure hurts as fiercely as the first.

 

* * *

 

Hanzo wakes again in that hotel bed. He can hear Jesse brushing his teeth. Hanzo breathes deeply, but the air is clean. Hanzo could swear that he can feel the smoke in his throat anyway.

He ought to get up, to try again. He ought to, but can’t find the strength. He will fail, just has he had every other time. He will watch Jesse die. He rolls over, burying his face in the pillow.

“Up and at ‘em,” Jesse says, walking to the side of the bed and shaking Hanzo’s feet.

Hanzo doesn’t move. He listens to Jesse putter around the room, still humming. He can picture Jesse dressing, gathering his things. He’s seen it enough times, after all.

“Hanzo, you all right?”

The bed dips by his hips as Jesse sits. Hanzo doesn’t move, hoping to wring a few more moments of denial out of the morning. Jesse reaches out, runs a hand gently up Hanzo’s spine. Hanzo bites his lip and finally pushes himself up.

It’s getting hard to look Jesse in the eye. He’s failed him so many times, but Jesse has no idea. He doesn’t have to remember. He doesn’t have to carry the dread that _this_ will be the last chance to get things right.

Jesse catches him by the chin, gently tips his face up. It takes every ounce of Hanzo’s willpower to keep his expression neutral, relaxed, like a man only just roused from sleep. This close, Hanzo can smell the mint of this toothpaste. It makes him want to gag. Jesse searches him for a moment, absently running his thumb over Hanzo’s cheek, and it feels like that will undo him.

But then Jesse’s hand falls away.

“Well?” Jesse prods.

“Yes,” Hanzo answers. “I’m fine.” There’s no other answer available to him. Jesse looks skeptical, but he doesn’t push. Jesse bumps his knee into Hanzo’s, then gets up to finish getting ready. Hanzo watches him.

He can’t watch Jesse die again. He _cannot_.

Hanzo pushes himself to his feet and starts pulling on his clothes and gear. It’s almost impossible to balance Jesse’s safety with exploring the facility. There are risks Hanzo could take if only his own safety would be forfeit.

But Jesse would never agree to stay behind. Even if he knew what was happening. Especially if he knew.

But if he—

_Hanzo grabs Jesse from behind, wraps his arm around his neck. Jesse claws at his arm, but it’s not enough. He’s holding back, stunned by disbelief. He can’t believe Hanzo is really doing this. Hanzo squeezes until Jesse goes limp, but well before he stops breathing._

His stomach churns at the thought. Could he really lay hands on Jesse in that way?

Hanzo pulls his clothes on. Perhaps—

_Hanzo shoves Jesse into the bathroom, barricades the door. Eventually someone would come to clean the room, and they’d find him. He’d be all right in the meantime, hungry at the worst._

No, Jesse never reenters the bathroom after he’s left. That won’t work.

Hanzo strings Stormbow, inspects his quiver. Maybe—

_Hanzo brings him to the Vishkar facility. Lets him get hurt. With all the emitters they’ve brought, there’s no wound the security drones could inflict that Hanzo couldn’t mitigate. Hanzo could hide him away close to the stairs with an emitter running, the rest on timers. He could explore the facility with Jesse incapacitated._

Hanzo’s never let Jesse come to harm. He knows his nerve wouldn’t hold, no matter what he decided here.

Jesse grabs him by the shoulder, starts to spin him around. What happens next, Hanzo doesn’t mean to do. It’s just reflex, honed over decades.

Jesse startles him, and so Hanzo grabs and flips him into the floor. The hotel room isn’t large, and Jesse lands on the small desk. It crumples under his sudden weight, leaving him on the floor in the midst of a pile of particle board.

Jesse groans and doesn’t get immediately to his feet. Hanzo stares down at him, frozen in horror. Then—

Then he darts to the balcony door, throws it open. He leans over the railing. He can make it down. In the predawn hours, it’s unlikely anyone would even notice.

Behind him, Jesse groans his name. Hanzo starts climbing without looking back.

 

* * *

 

Somewhere, Hanzo went from an exploration to an assault on the Vishkar facility. He fell back into old patterns. Stopped thinking of these people as fellow victims, instead they are complicit, culpable. He cut down anyone who refused to cooperate. Cut down anyone who stood between him and putting a stop to this.

He made it further than he ever had before.

But he didn’t find the source of the explosion before it happened.

He found it as it happened.

His comm had been buzzing in his pocket until he entered the facility and went out of range. Now there must be a clearer path to the surface, because it’s started again.

He didn’t even consider answering it. It could only lead Jesse to him, and that wasn’t acceptable. But now, laying in a pool of his own blood? Hanzo experiences a lapse in judgment.

He answers.

“What the fuck are you doing!” Jesse snaps, his anger giving his words an icy edge. He’s truly furious then, that’s the only time all the warmth goes out of his voice. Hanzo can picture what his face must look like, stony but his eyes burning.  “I’ve been callin’ for _goddamn hours_ so you better have a good fuckin’ explanation.”

He takes a breath to speak, but then he starts to cough. He only just covers the microphone in time. When he stops, he can taste blood at the back on his tongue.

“I am sorry,” Hanzo says. His voice sounds weak to his own ears.

He listens to Jesse swear on the other end, frustrated. Hanzo lets his eyes slip closed. It’s cold in here, and he’s so tired. Jesse’s voice buzzes in his ear. Has Hanzo ever paid particular attention to the cadence in his speech before? It’s almost lyrical, and deep, and so soothing. He should have been paying attention.

“Hanzo!”

Hanzo’s eyes snap back open.

“What?”

“I said, you gotta tell me where you’re at. Then you can tell me what’s goin’ on in that fool head of yours.”

“Oh.” Hanzo’s tongue feels thick in his mouth. He coughs again, and this time he’s too slow to cover the mic. He closes his eyes again. He can’t do that, so he tells Jesse this instead: “I love you, Jesse. I’m sorry this wasn’t enough. I’m sorry I wasn’t enough to save you.”

“What in the f—”

Hanzo ends the call. The comm starts buzzing again almost immediately, but he lets it slip through his fingers to the floor. He doesn’t know how much time is left before the wave of light, before the day starts over, but on the off chance this is it, he doesn’t want Jesse to have to hear him die.

He’s so cold, but he can’t even shiver. The pain is a far off thing, barely noticeable. He can’t remember dying before. Maybe he won’t remember. Maybe he won’t remember any of this. Maybe he’ll end up like Jesse, unaware of the nightmare they’re trapped in.

Darkness beckons for him, and he stops trying to fight it.

But the air around him crackles. He feels his skin buzz with a fury that’s not his. His eyes snap open. He feels the presence of his dragons, feels their desperation at being trapped within his failing body. He can feel his own heart rate increase with a panic that’s not his own. He tries to tell them to stop, to let go, but it’s like they don’t know how to let him die.

He cries out as his skin burns, and his heart beats even faster, as his diaphragm moves on its own. He feels their claws sink into him, trying to hold him in place. It’s so much and it won’t be enough, and why won’t they just give up? He feels them say something like _not again_ and then—

Then the wave comes.

 

* * *

 

Hanzo’s eyes open, and he falls out of the bed in almost the same instant. His head clips the nightstand on the way down, rattling the lamp on top of it and splitting the skin above his eyebrow. The hot blood blinds him in one eye, and he clumsily wipes it away as he tries to scramble away from—

Away from himself.

His dragons are still buzzing under his skin, their claws still hooked deep into his nervous system. Their panic is making his heart hammer. He can still feel the echoes of his wounds, and he clumsily wipes the blood out of his eye so he can see if they’re really gone.

The light from the bathroom is briefly eclipsed, and Jesse shouts his name. Jesse—he’d hurt Jesse, left him alone, and all for nothing. He’d been so angry. Hanzo has seen that anger before, but never directed at him.

What had he accomplished?  He’d hurt Jesse, killed dozens of people, and only managed to prove to himself that there are limits to Jesse’s love. That there is still a new low to which he can sink. His eyes sting, and it’s more than just the blood. He tries to breathe, but the air burns his throat, misery collapses his lungs.

Jesse lays a hand on top of his foot and a truly pathetic noise finds its way out of Hanzo’s throat. Hanzo jerks his foot away, scrambles back until he hits a wall, but Jesse follows. Jesse shakes his leg, and Hanzo can feel the pressure of his voice against his eardrums, but his words are lost. Hanzo can’t even see him through his blurring vision. Hanzo feels the pressure of his hand glide up his leg, up his side, to his cheek. Jesse tips his face up, and Hanzo can’t fight down the sob with Jesse looking at him like that.

“ _Hanzo_ , you’re scarin’ me.” Jesse’s voice is tremulous, and it’s a stark contrast to the anger. Hanzo’s mouth opens, but no words come in response. Maybe the anger is correct. After all, if he could remember, he would still be furious.

Jesse pulls the bed sheet free, uses it to wipe the blood away from Hanzo’s face. It hardly matters. In a few hours, Hanzo will wake up in that bed again, physically unmarked by whatever has happened in the interim. Hanzo grabs Jesse’s hand and forces it away.

“ _Go_ ,” he wails. It’s the only warning he can think to give. If Jesse would just run, just _hide_ —

But Jesse doesn’t, the damn fool of a man. He comes closer, pulls Hanzo against his chest. Hanzo can’t hold it together with the scent of Jesse’s skin in his nose and the memory of him dying playing over and over in his mind. Hanzo buries his face against Jesse’s neck. Presses his hand against Jesse’s jaw. He can feel Jesse’s pulse under his thumb.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere,” Jesse says. “I’d never leave you alone like this.”

Then Jesse murmurs nonsense into Hanzo’s hair, strokes his fingers softly up and down his back. Great, ugly sobs wrack his body, and he clings desperately to his lover. Hanzo can’t force himself back into line. Every time he tries, another death repeats itself behind his eyelids.

“Please. I’ve seen you die so many times. Please, just go.”

Jesse’s hands still, his body goes rigid.

“It was a nightmare,” Jesse says, but he lacks conviction.

It is. In so many ways. But not the one Jesse means.

“Something went wrong,” Hanzo says. He stops to swallow. Stops to get himself under control. “This day has been repeating, and you never remember.”

“Hanzo, you have to know what that sounds like.”

“You are going to _die_ today, Jesse!” Hanzo shouts into Jesse’s chest. “I know because I’ve seen it! Over and over. I cannot stop it.”

“Okay, okay, just—how about we get off the floor and get you cleaned up?”

Hanzo lets Jesse pull him up, lets Jesse sit him on the foot of the bed. Jesse disappears for a moment, and Hanzo hears the tap running. Jesse comes back with a washcloth and their first aid kit. He has Hanzo’s blood on his chest and neck. The sight of it makes Hanzo sick, and he has to close his eyes.

Jesse sits beside him, brushes the warm, damp washcloth to Hanzo’s forehead until it he’s sure it’s clean. Jesse pinches the skin closed and sticks two butterfly bandages in place. Hanzo risks opening his eyes. Jesse is wiping himself off with the washcloth. Hanzo holds out his hand, gets the spot on his neck he missed.

“That’s better. Now, about what you were sayin’—”

“It’s happening.”

“Look, I believe you believe it. But—” Jesse sighs, runs a hand through his hair. “When Lena got—when she had her accident, they buried that shit deep. How’d anybody ever find it? And how come I can’t remember?”

“I don’t know. You—” Hanzo squeezes his eyes shut. Tries to breathe through the memory of Jesse impaled on a piece of debris. “You were dead the first time.”

An uneasy silence falls between them. Perhaps, Hanzo could show Jesse he knows what’s going to happen. But that would only convince him for today. There’s the next time, and the one after that, and the one after _that_.

“You call the others? If there really is some time bullshit happenin’ here, Winston’d be the one to talk to.”

Hanzo stares at Jesse. It had never even occurred to him. After trying to leave on the train, he’d given up on trying to escape, but Gibraltar is thousands of kilometers away. There might be help out there. Hanzo hadn’t considered the possibility, he had been so consumed with trying to figure it out himself. How much could he have spared Jesse, spared himself, if he hadn’t been so intent on what he could accomplish alone?

“ _Hanzo_ ,” Jesse says, reading the answer in his silence. “You ain’t gotta fix everythin’ yourself. You’re not alone anymore. You got a team out there to help.”

Jesse gets up, goes to dig out his comm.

“Uh, that’s weird,” Jesse mutters. His comm is displaying _Call Failed_ in red letters. “Try yours I guess?”

Hanzo gets it, calls Athena’s line directly. She picks up after the customary two rings.

“Who is speaking?”

“Agent Shimada Hanzo.”

“One moment. Voice profile matches. Hello, Agent Shimada.”

“Hello, Athena. I need to speak with Winston.”

Hanzo switches the phone to speaker, so Jesse can hear as well, and holds it between them.

“He is currently speaking with Agent McCree.”

Hanzo looks up at Jesse, who’s staring right back. Jesse is wearing the confusion Hanzo feels.

“Oh, thank you, Athena.”

“If you hold for a few moments until they finish, I will connect you. Unless Agent McCree is with you?”

“I will wait, thank you.”

Jesse mouths _what the fuck_ slowly, and Hanzo makes an expansive gesture to illustrate his own bafflement. He’s starting to get an inkling of what it could mean, Jesse sitting here beside him while also speaking with Winston. Or perhaps more precisely, someone is using Jesse’s comm to speak with Winston. They must make a call shortly before now. Which means, at least, today is not the end.

The comm chimes softly, their only warning before Winston starts talking.

“Oh! Agents. Uh, I wasn’t expecting, I mean—how did it go?”

“How’d what go?” Jesse asks.

There’s beat of perfect silence, then Winston clears his throat.

“No offense meant, McCree, but is Shimada there?”

“I am.”

“And you don’t remember, Shimada?”

“No, I’m afraid not.”

“Oh. I see. Shimada, have we spoken before?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“That’s what you said just a few moments ago,” Winston murmurs. “Could it be—oh no.”

“What?” Hanzo asks. Fear makes his blood run cold.

“I’m sorry, Agents, I’m just finding out for myself,” Winston sighs. “I’ll try to be brief, we have to ration our time speaking this way. Outside of the chronal disturbance, your comm signals interfere destructively with themselves, so we have a limited window for communication. You just called and—well you said that was the first time you’d tried to contact me. Before that, there was another call from your comm, Shimada, but it was garbled. I wrote it off at first. But, never mind that, I’ll try to be brief.

“Shimada, we discussed going to find the source of the disturbance. You were supposed to report back with what you’d learned at the next reset but—well, um, we weren’t sure about—I’m sorry—

“You _both_ must have died.”

A chill runs up Hanzo’s spine. So that’s what the dragons had meant.

“Are you _sure_? Are you sure that was the first time?”

“That’s what you said, Shimada. I asked you explicitly. I’m still not sure of the mechanism by which you’re able to retain your memories while everyone else—you too, I’m afraid, McCree—does not. You mentioned surviving every reset, which pardon me, seemed unlikely based upon your descriptions of the explosion. I suggested this possibility, that you could only retain information if you lived through the reset, but you weren’t sure. I guess, now we know.”

“You know what’s causin’ this?” Jesse asks.

“And how many more times it might happen?” Hanzo adds.

“I think, based on what little I know, that Vishkar was using something similar in concept to the chronal accelerator to create a bubble of looping time underground, allowing for the rapid expansion of that facility. But either it becomes unstable or something destabilizes it. As for whether it will resolve on its own—I’m sorry, I just don’t know. You could settle back into the time stream, or you could all be lost like Lena almost was. This is unknown territory. No matter what, I would advise you against unnecessary risk.”

“Implying that we gotta take some risk,” Jesse says slowly.

“I think it would be best to assume that it won’t resolve favorably on its own, and that outside intervention will be needed,” Winston says quietly, almost hesitantly. “The more I know about their device, the more likely I am to be able to work out a solution.”

“I understand,” Hanzo says.

“I think it would be best if you called back as soon as you know—for you, don’t wait until it’s soon for me. I don’t want to risk—I’d rather not have this conversation again.”

“Agreed,” Hanzo says.

“All right, now that we’re on the same page, what I need to know is—”

Winston speaks quickly, describing the chronal device in abstract, where it would need to be located in order to cover such a large facility, and so on. It dawns on Hanzo that he knows precisely what Winston is talking about. That was where he finished the previous iteration.

“Stop, stop, Winston, I know where it is.”

“Oh, um, good. I’ll leave you two to work out the details. Be careful, Agents.”

The call disconnects, leaving them in silence.

“Well, then. I’m gonna have a smoke about that.”

Jesse gets his cigarillos and tugs on a pair of jeans, then steps onto the balcony, leaving the door open behind him. Hanzo turns the comm over in his hands. Perhaps that was why he hadn’t made progress exploring the facility. He’d go too far, get caught in the blast, and forget.

 _Not again_. He’d heard the dragons think that when they refused to let him die. Maybe they’ve been trying to help, all along.

Jesse comes back in, bringing the smoke smell with him, and drops heavily onto the bed. Hanzo glances at him. It doesn’t look as if one cigarillo was enough to properly settle him. There probably isn’t enough tobacco in the city for that.

“So this is happenin’. Fuck.”

“Well put.”

Jesse reaches out and rests a hand on the small of Hanzo’s back, as if he’s grounding himself. Hanzo rests a hand on Jesse’s thigh and turns toward him.

“’Fore we start plannin’, I was thinkin’—well. I won’t remember tomorrow? Or whatever it is. And I’m not gonna want to believe you again. So, uh.” Jesse stops. Swallows. Hanzo waits him out. “I figured if I told you somethin’ now, somethin’ that’d get my attention, then I’d believe the rest of it.”

“It’s a good idea,” Hanzo says slowly. Jesse starts rubbing nervous circles into Hanzo’s skin with his thumb. Why is Jesse so uncomfortable with his own idea?

“I don’t wanna talk about this now. I don’t think I’m gonna want to talk about it ever.” Jesse’s gaze drops to the floor, his expression turns hard in a way Hanzo’s not often seen outside of a firefight. Hanzo squeezes Jesse’s thigh. “You tell me just like this—‘Cyrus was the one who thought to pawn her ring, but I’m the one that did it.’ I’ll know what it means.”

 _Her_? Hanzo is caught off guard. He’s not privy to Jesse’s entire history, long as it is, so Hanzo had been content to learn it piecemeal. He thinks first of Ana Amari, but discards her as well as her daughter. He can’t fit either woman, a ring, and Jesse desperate enough to pawn something into a narrative. It would have been a peculiar memento to receive from either, and surely Jesse fended for himself better than that while on his own.  While he and Dr. Ziegler are friends, again, he can’t imagine the doctor entrusting Jesse with jewelry. That leaves only Jesse’s mother, of the women Hanzo knows about.

Hanzo lets the theory sit. There could have been yet someone else with a profound effect on Jesse life, but if so then Hanzo has heard nothing of her. His mother, and the loss of his mother, isn’t something Jesse talks about often. Maybe later Jesse will tell him. If there is a later.

“Anyway,” Jesse says abruptly. “Lay the rest of this out for me. Where we going?”

 

* * *

 

They’re standing in front of the office, again. Jesse’s been quiet since they left the hotel. Unnervingly quiet. Hanzo has just broken the lock on the door, and is about to step over the threshold, when Jesse grabs him by the shoulder.

“You’re not goin’ in.”

“What?” Hanzo asks, incredulous.

“We can’t risk losin’ you,” Jesse says. “So you’re gonna stay put and make sure Winston gets what he needs.”

“And let you go in alone?” Hanzo snarls.

“Exactly.”

“You could be—” Hanzo can’t say killed. He cannot. “You don’t know the way.”

Jesse taps the ear with the radio.

“I trust ya.”

“What if you’re out of range?”

“Then I’ll figure it out. This is bigger than me’n’you. There’s a whole city fulla people out there who need us to figure this out.”

Hanzo, to his own shame, doesn’t care about that. He just wants to make sure that on the other side of this, Jesse makes it out. Hanzo reaches up and curls his hands behind Jesse’s head. Pulls him down until their foreheads meet. Indulges himself in the proximity for a few seconds.

“You will come back to me, Jesse McCree.”

“Course I will.”

Jesse seals the promise with a kiss, gentle and quick and not nearly enough, then he stands and Hanzo doesn’t try to stop him. They have to do this, to try. There’s no other way.

 

* * *

 

It takes hours, but Jesse finally finds Vishkar’s bastardized chronal accelerator. Hanzo calls Gibraltar the instant Jesse is ready. Winston picks up on the first ring.

“Athena is recording, go.”

Hanzo dutifully repeats everything Jesse tells him.

“I still need—”

“Jesse’s window to leave safely is almost over,” Hanzo interrupts.

“I see. Nevermind.”

With that, Winston hangs up.

“Comin’ back,” Jesse says.

Hanzo tries not to think about how long Jesse has to make it back out.

 

* * *

 

There’s a sound very like Peacekeeper’s report on the radio. It makes it clip in Hanzo’s ear.

“Jesse, what was that? Are you all right?”

There’s static on the line. It’s not time yet, Jesse should have almost an hour. Dread sinks it’s thorns into Hanzo’s lungs, paralyzing them as his thoughts begin to race. _Can I get to him—where is he—not again—not again—_

Jesse groans, a low, rough noise. Hanzo chokes, presses his hand over his mouth. He stares ahead, unseeing, focused only on the radio in his ear.

“No, darlin’, I don’t rightly think I am.”

“Tell me where you are! Just hold on!”

“No.”

“Jesse!” Hanzo bellows.  He fists his hands at his sides so tightly they shake.

“That’s not the plan. It’s not like this counts, right? We’ll both end up back in the hotel.” The mic picks up a ragged breath. “And I won’t remember.”

They hope, Hanzo doesn’t say. Every other time, that’s what happened, but there’s no guarantee. This could have been the last time. But Hanzo can’t say that, can’t share that dread with Jesse.

“Talk to me, won’t you?”

“Anything you want.”

Hanzo starts talking. He’s not even sure what he’s saying; he’s not used to being the one who fills silences. He blathers on about the warehouse, then his frustration with the water pressure at the Watchpoint, then the dinner they’d shared a few weeks ago on an op in Buenos Aires. Anything that comes to mind. Jesse doesn’t give him much in the way of replies, but then that’s not the point.

Eventually he realizes that he hasn’t heard anything on the other end, and he becomes terrified of even stopping to breathe. If he questions the silence, then he’d know.

The ground beneath Hanzo bucks, knocking him off balance. He catches himself on the wall and starts rambling in earnest. Anything to stave off the silence on the other end of the radio. He knows he has to go outside, but that feels like betraying Jesse. But it would be a bigger betrayal to die in here and lose what he knows now. Still, Hanzo doesn’t go until he smells the smoke, still talking all the while—

“I love you, Jesse, I love you like I’ve never loved anyone else. I swear we’ll fix this, I swear you won’t have to remember this, I love you, I love you, I love you.”

When the wave comes it’s a fucking mercy.

 

* * *

 

Hanzo opens his eyes. Dark room. Sliver of light. Jesse’s humming. Slowly, he pushes himself upright, drags his legs over the edge of the bed. He thinks that he should get up, but he can’t make his body move any further. He leans over his knees and rests his head in his hands. He’s tired. Weary. Even if he makes it out of this, he’s not sure there will be anything but a shell left of him.

Instead of getting up and facing the morning, he sits there and listens to Jesse putter through his routine. As many times as he’s heard it, Hanzo still can’t place the song Jesse’s humming. He wonders if it’s a song at all.

The door opens wider, throwing more light into the hotel room. Jesse pads over, footsteps just barely audible, and stops in front of Hanzo. He doesn’t do anything for a moment, waiting, perhaps, for Hanzo to react, but when Hanzo doesn’t he reaches out and sets a hand gently on Hanzo’s shoulder. The touch lingers there for a moment before it drifts to one of Hanzo’s hands. Jesse’s knees pop as he crouches down and takes the hand into his own.

He looks concerned. Not yet truly worried, but he knows something isn’t right. Hanzo tugs his hand free, places it behind Jesse’s head. Pulls him until their mouths meet. All Hanzo can taste is the overwhelming sting of mint, but it’s still Jesse, and that’s good enough. How long has it been since he kissed Jesse properly? How would he even count? Everything before this goddamn hotel room seems like a dream.

Jesse only indulges him for a moment before leaning away and standing.  Hanzo doesn’t let him go far, reeling him back and resting his forehead against Jesse’s stomach.

“I love you.” He says it again in Jesse’s Spanish. In his own Japanese.

Jesse reaches down and tips his face up by the chin. He’s well on his way to worry now. Hanzo realizes he doesn’t say it enough. If they ever get to stop living this day, Hanzo vows to never stop. He swallows down the vow, buries it in his chest with all the others, and prepares to start this awful cycle again.

“You—” Hanzo stops to wet his lips. Remembers the way Jesse hesitated to tell him. “You said to tell you Cyrus thought to pawn her ring, but you’re the one that did it.”

He can _see_ the way Jesse goes rigid with shock. Fear, shock, anger pass over his face before he catches himself and schools himself to blankness. His snatches his hand away and steps back.

“I never told you that.”

Hanzo closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to see that look directed at him anymore.

“You did. You said you would believe what I have to say next if I told you that.” Hanzo waits for Jesse to say something, but he doesn’t. “Something went wrong on this mission. We’ve been reliving this day, over and over. I have lost count of how many times. If we go, one or both of us dies. If we hide, we end up here anyway.”

Hanzo braves opening his eyes again. Jesse has his mouth set in a grim line. Hanzo wants to reach for him, to comfort, but he fists his hands in his lap instead.

“What else did I say about _that_?”

Hanzo shakes his head.

“That was it. That’s all you’ve ever said about someone called Cyrus, or a ring.”

Jesse sighs, and his shoulders drop. He looks almost defeated. Jesse goes for his cigarillos and lighter, goes out on the balcony in nothing but his boxers and shuts the door behind him. His back is to Hanzo, and Hanzo watches him. Watches the tension coil his shoulders. Watches the smoke drift around him.

Is this better, truly? Hanzo’s not sure.

He gets caught staring, but he doesn’t care. Jesse’s expression is still shuttered, but it’s quite not that awful blankness. He tosses his cigarillos and lighter into his open luggage then faces Hanzo properly.

“You must be tellin’ me the truth, ‘cause there ain’t no other way for you to know about that.”

“As I said, you told me. You seemed—hesitant.”

Jesse huffs humorlessly, then grumbles,

“Fuck me.”

Jesse steps closer, turns, and drops onto the bed beside Hanzo. Tentatively, Hanzo reaches his hand around Jesse’s lower back. Jesse reflexively rests his arm over Hanzo’s shoulders.

“What do we know? And how come I don’t remember?”

“It’s Vishkar. They managed to build something like the chronal accelerator, Winston is certain, but something went wrong and time is looping back on itself. No one else in this city seems to remember besides me.”

Jesse’s arm tightens over his shoulders.

“If you’ve talked to Winston, I’m assumin’ there’s a plan?”

“There is.”

 

* * *

 

They go back.

This time Jesse makes it out.

The wave still comes.

 

* * *

 

It never gets easier to tell Jesse, but Hanzo works out the quickest way after only a few repetitions. They keep going back, reporting back to Winston on their dwindling lifeline when they learn something new.

It’s progress.

 

* * *

 

This time, they need only make a call. There’s only one slice of time left that’s safe to call out to Gibraltar, and only on Hanzo’s comm. After that, Hanzo isn’t sure. Waiting, he supposes. Waiting and trusting that Winston can make sense of it all.

There was no need to leave the hotel, so they haven’t.

In fact, Jesse hasn’t been out of his reach for longer than it took to answer the door for room service. His constant attention has plastered over Hanzo’s cracks. Hides them well enough he doesn’t have to think about them, at least not for now. Instead, there’s just Jesse, alive and safe, and all the ways Hanzo can revel in that fact.

Hanzo needed a reminder that Jesse can gasp for a reason other than pain, that he can groan for the same. That Hanzo can hover over him and see only a flush instead of blood. That even if he hasn’t been able to keep him safe, just this once, he can take care of him. That he can put their predicament out of his mind for a while.

Jesse dozed off half on top of Hanzo. His hair, still damp from their shower, is cool fanned out against Hanzo’s chest. Hanzo’s looped his arms around Jesse, laced his fingers over Jesse’s spine. With the cloud of endorphins still swirling through his brain, he can almost pretend that they’re in their own bed. That the sun has finally set on an extraordinarily long day. That tomorrow morning will come, and he will wake with his arm asleep from being pinned under Jesse all night, and he’ll be annoyed until the sting fades. That when he tries to get up, Jesse will hold him back, and he’ll give in, because the bed is warm and when Jesse is rumpled and sleepy he is almost impossible to deny.

He can try to pretend, but reality creeps in like a draft. Their bed feels impossibly far away, on the other side of a chasm he can’t bridge. Overwatch will have to do that for him.

Jesse stretches with an indulgent groan, then pushes himself up on one elbow. Hanzo lets his hands part around Jesse’s torso, resting them on his flanks instead.

“Hey there, gorgeous.”

Jesse smiles down at him. A lump forms in Hanzo’s throat. Jesse was anxious earlier in the day about abandoning their mission, but he trusted Hanzo enough to wait here. Trusted Hanzo, despite all his failures to protect him. But then, those are failures Jesse can’t remember.

Jesse bends down, kisses Hanzo between his eyes. Then the tip of his nose. Then properly. Kisses him like he just hadn’t, like he’s deprived of the taste of Hanzo’s mouth. Hanzo can’t remember when, to Jesse’s mind, the last time they really kissed was. A day at the most, perhaps.

Jesse pulls away with a happy sigh, drops to the bed beside Hanzo. Worms his arm under Hanzo’s head and pulls him close. Hanzo shifts until he's resting comfortably on Jesse’s shoulder.

Any other time, this would be a perfect indulgence.  But now—

Hanzo tips his head down, so Jesse can’t see his frown. He doesn’t want to call. He doesn’t want this day to end. He doesn’t want to explain this situation to Jesse again.

“Does it hurt?” Jesse asks, apropos of nothing.

There’s only one thing he could be asking about.

It’s a dull knife twisting between ribs, Hanzo doesn’t say. It’s a salt slicked saw, carving him open, stroke by agonizing stroke. But that’s not what Jesse means.

“No.”

“Really?”

“It’s just—just light. I wake up in this bed. I don’t know what it is like for everyone else. You won’t remember, if it makes a difference.”

Jesse grunts, squeezing Hanzo closer. Hanzo looks over at his face. He’s leery, if Hanzo is any judge. Hanzo can hardly blame him.

Hanzo could procrastinate. Wait until the next reset to call. Let this day exist as a perfect lull in his memory. But he’d already told Jesse, and his sense of duty hasn’t eroded that much.

Hanzo pushes himself up, reaches for his comm.

Winston picks up, instead of Athena.

“We’re ready, Agent Shimada.”

Hanzo relays everything from the day before. Part way through, Jesse pushes himself upright, pulls Hanzo against his side. Hanzo leans into him.

“That’s all.” Hanzo pauses to clear his throat. “From my point of view, this is the last time we’ll be speaking.”

“Ah, all right. We’ll figure out some way to contact you—whenever the solution we find is ready. Um, how much time before the next call?”

Hanzo pulls the comm away from his face to check the time.

“Approximately twenty minutes, being conservative.”

“Okay. All right. Can you wait a moment?”

“Of course.”

There’s rustling on the other end. Hanzo frowns. Jesse gives him an inquisitive look, but Hanzo can only shrug in response.

“Hello?” That’s unmistakably Jesse’s sister. “Can I talk to my brother?”

“Of course.” Hanzo hands the comm to Jesse, whispering “It’s Fareeha.”

Jesse tucks the comm close, turns away for privacy. Hanzo lets his eyes drop to the carpet.

“I don’t know.” A pause then, “I’ll try.”  Hanzo hears Fareeha’s garbled voice for a moment before Jesse says, “I love you, Sissy.” His voice wavers just the smallest bit.

Hanzo bites his lip. Tries not to think about Jesse’s sister telling him goodbye. He starts when Jesse taps him on the shoulder, the comm held out. Hanzo takes it.

“Hello?”

“Brother?”

Hanzo’s stomach drops to his knees.

“Yes?” Is all Hanzo manages.

“Are you all right?” Genji laugh bitterly in his ear, a thin sound. “I’m sorry, that’s a bad question. I know you aren’t.”

“I’m fine,” Hanzo insists on reflex.

Genji sighs.

“If you say so.” There’s a rustling, as if Genji’s shifting his comm. “Winston will figure this out. I have absolute faith in him.”

“Right,” Hanzo says.

“Wait for us. We’ll get you both out.”

“Naturally,” Hanzo replies.

He tries to believe it.

 

* * *

 

The hotel room again. Jesse brushing his teeth again. Hanzo bites his lip and blows out a sigh. Chooses to lie there, let Jesse finish up.

In a way, it’s been easier since they made the last phone call. Jesse hasn’t died. But Hanzo has had to relive those memories every time in order to convince Jesse to abandon the mission as he knows it. Still, some times, Jesse pushes back. But eventually, Hanzo convinces him. Hanzo isn’t angry with his push back, not truly. Jesse is only trying to do his duty.

It’s not Jesse’s fault Hanzo carries all these memories of his death, that every repetition mangles the miserable composition of Hanzo’s soul a little more.

“Up and at ‘em.”

That’s what Jesse says any time Hanzo lingers in bed. He pushes himself upright and watches Jesse start preparing for a mission he won’t complete. With a sigh, he gets to his feet and steels himself to tell Jesse again.

Then he hears his comm buzz. It’s never done that before. Heart in his throat, he picks it up and checks it. There’s a message, text only, that’s never been there before.

_We did it. Instructions to follow._

Then it buzzes again and again and again. Hanzo’s mouth goes dry. Jesse is staring at him, a question written on his face. Hanzo ignores him, for the moment, and opens the rest of the messages.

There are detailed diagrams of something and a long message.

_If you can activate this before the chronal disruption stabilizes, it will bring you and the rest of the city back into the timestream. It will be waiting for you in the center power distribution center. From our perspective, it looks as if there’s been a complete loss of everything in a forty kilometer radius from the facility. This is no longer about preventing another Rio de Janeiro, this is about saving the lives of everyone there. But I know you understand the stakes already._

_I know you’ll succeed. We’ll be waiting for you when you do._

Hanzo read the messages again, then opens the diagrams and looks at them properly. They’re instructions for connecting Winston’s solution to the facility’s power source, then for how to activate it.

This could almost be over.

“That Winston?” Jesse finally asks. Hanzo nods, not trusting himself to speak. Jesse comes closer, holds his hand out for the comm. Hanzo hasn’t told him yet, but perhaps this is a kinder way for him to learn.

Hanzo gives the comm to him.

A wary confusion settles on Jesse’s face, and he stares down at the comm for far longer than it would take for him to absorb the information. When he finally looks back up at Hanzo, he’s visibly unsettled.

“What’s all this mean, Han?”

“Something went wrong the first time we attempted this mission. Vishkar accelerated the building of a facility by manipulating time there, but their equipment failed and trapped the city and everyone in it in some kind of disturbance. Winston and I don’t understand the mechanism, but for some reason I can remember what has happened, while you and everyone else cannot.”

Jesse is quiet for a moment before he says.

“You’ve told me all that before, huh?”

Hanzo nods.

“How long has it been like this?”

“I don’t know anymore,” Hanzo answers. Jesse presses his lips together.

“I guess this is old hat for you, but, Christ, you’re awful calm.”

Hanzo almost laughs. He doesn’t feel calm, he feels raw. Turned inside out, with all the most vulnerable pieces of him exposed and trampled. He feels like he’ll never be able to look at Jesse again without remembering some way he’s died.

What Jesse sees in Hanzo’s face makes him frown and steps closer, discarding the comm on the bed.

“What’s happened all the other times?” Jesse asks.

“It doesn’t matter, you can’t remember anyway.”

“But you do.”

“ _It doesn’t matter_.” Hanzo snaps. If this is it, then he can’t afford to get this wrong. He has to set aside everything but his goal. Get to Winston’s device. Keep Jesse alive in the meantime.

Hanzo steps around him and starts pulling on clothes, readying his gear—packs Stormbow into its case, grabs his comm. Jesse sputters behind him. Hanzo grabs Jesse’s body armor and shoves it in his arms. Jesse sighs and starts buckling it on. Hanzo stuffs half their first aid kit into his pockets, then demands Jesse carry the rest. When Jesse doesn’t take it quickly enough, Hanzo shoves a roll of biotic patches into his pocket for him.

“Hey, Jesus, hold on!”

Hanzo doesn’t wait however, he instead flips the lid of Stormbow’s case shut and slings it over his shoulder. He starts for the door, but Jesse’s hand on his arm stops him cold. Jesse tugs him back, and Hanzo lets him.

“Would you just wait a second? We haven’t even talked about what we’re doin’.”

“We can discuss on the way.”

“Or you can cool your jets and we can do it here.” Jesse spins Hanzo until they’re facing each other properly, leans down until they’re eye to eye. “You’re scarin’ me, Han. What the hell are we about to walk into?”

Hanzo lets his shoulder slump. He doesn’t want to tell him. He doesn’t want to revisit those memories again.

But barreling in half-cocked is how he’ll end up living with something worse forever.

“You’re right,” Hanzo sighs. He sets Stormbow’s case on the floor, and goes to sit on the bed.

“The facility is hidden under a warehouse—”

 

* * *

 

Hanzo didn’t tell Jesse everything. Enough, more than enough, for him have his bearings down here, but Hanzo’s voice disappeared when he reached the moment to tell Jesse about his deaths.

Those don’t matter, because Hanzo won’t let another one happen.

It takes hours of careful maneuvering to get to the spot Winston designated. Hanzo finds himself unwilling to kill the Vishkar employees, if this is truly the death that counts. They are as hapless as he is, after all. But incapacitating or avoiding them takes time. As does taking the long away around the routes that are heavy with drones.

But they get there, finding themselves standing in front of something that looks, to Hanzo’s untrained eye, little better than a prototype. Winston is the expert in matters of spacetime, however, so Hanzo can only trust him.

The instructions given are simple to follow, if tedious. Jesse’s mechanical skill is no small help. They get it powered, and, trepidatious, they activate it. It starts with a dull hum, emitting a blue light.

“Is this—?” Jesse asks.

“I have no idea,” Hanzo answers.

They are far off the script as Hanzo knows it.

“Let’s go,” Hanzo says, tugging Jesse along. Jesse follows him easily.

 

* * *

 

The way out isn’t difficult, but it’s still slow. There is so much ground to cover, especially given how careful they must be. There are no more second chances.

Hanzo makes Jesse go up the stairs first. Jesse almost protests, but whatever he sees in Hanzo’s face  has him taking the steps two at a time. It takes no prodding at all to send him running for the warehouse door.

There’s a sudden whine in the air, and his dragons suddenly come to attention, and then everything starts shaking. It’s like the very air is trying to tear itself apart. Hanzo hears a metallic groan above him, and he doesn’t think, he just throws himself on top of Jesse, sending them both to the floor.

There’s heat. Pain. Jesse screams. The dragons roar.

Then the universe snaps back into place.

 

* * *

 

Hanzo’s head throbs. Like someone tried to split it open. Maybe they did, then stuffed it full of cotton. Hanzo lies limply in place, hoping he can just drift off, wake again when his head hurts less and his thoughts are easier to order.

But then he hears Jesse’s voice.

“Hanzo, baby, _please_ , open them eyes for me.”

Hanzo does it.

His vision is blurry and the lights are too bright and somehow his head hurts even worse than before. He tries to say Jesse’s name, but his voice comes out as nothing but a thin rasp.  Something obscures the lights for moment. Hanzo blinks, trying to clear his vision.

Jesse is mere centimeters above him. One of his hands is curled around Hanzo’s cheek. There’s a cut on his cheek that’s oozing blood, and his hair is white with dust. His breath doesn’t smell of mint.

This isn’t how Hanzo normally wakes up.

Jesse gathers him up against his chest, squeezing tightly. The sudden shift makes Hanzo’s head spin, but he grabs back as best he can.

Jesse’s okay.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, where do you get off jumpin’ on top of me wearin’ nothing but shirt sleeves,” Jesse whispers. “Like to scare me to death.”

There’s something he meant to tell Jesse, something important. It’s there, just on the tip of his tongue—

“Love you,” Hanzo rasps.

“Christ,” Jesse says. “I love you, too, you crazy, perfect bastard.”

“Love you,” Hanzo repeats. He remembers wanting to repeat it.

Jesse tucks Hanzo’s head under his chin. Holds him there for a moment. Hanzo’s head still hurts, but it’s more tolerable this way.

Eventually, Jesse gets to his feet. Helps Hanzo up after him. Hanzo’s head spins at first, but after only a moment he gets his bearings. He looks around properly. They’re in the warehouse.

It collapsed in the middle, right where it always had. They missed the I-beam by only a few meters. Broken and scattered crates lay around them. It’s chaos.

But they’re alive.

Jesse takes his hand, tugs gently. Hanzo follows, staring around them. Could they really have done it?

Outside, the workers are staring at the warehouse in shock, standing in a loose group away from the building. Hanzo stops, starts to back away from the crowd on instinct, but Jesse won’t follow. He’s not looking at the crowd, he’s looking at something else.

The Orca.

The Orca is here, along with a goodly contingent of Overwatch.

“Jesse!” Fareeha calls. She approaches them at a dead run, slams into Jesse like a freight train. He staggers back with her hanging off his neck, reflexively squeezes her. “How dare you! How dare you scare me like that!”

“‘M sorry, Sissy.”

“You better be,” Then, more softly. “I’m so glad you’re back.”

Hanzo dumbly watches Genji run towards him. Stares blankly into his mask as Genji grips his shoulders. He can see his reflection, see the grit on his face, the blood dripping from his temple.

Could it really be over?

Genji shakes him, and Hanzo shifts his gaze to the line of his visor, where his eyes are.

“I said, _are you okay_?” Genji says.

“Yes.” Hanzo doesn’t sound convincing, even to his own ears.

Genji mutters something Hanzo doesn’t catch and lets his shoulders go. He turns to Jesse, looks him over. Fareeha has let him go. Jesse is looking at him, mouth pressed into a thin line.

Jesse is alive.

The realization hits him. Jesse is alive, and they’re outside, and they’ll never have to go back into that facility again. They’ll never have to come to this _city_ again.

The two of them are herded back toward the Orca by their siblings. Jesse drapes his arm over Hanzo’s shoulders. It feels more like he’s holding Hanzo up than it should. Dr. Ziegler meets them on the ramp.

“Hanzo’s got a concussion,” Jesse says by way of greeting, pushing Hanzo forward.

Before Hanzo can say anything, Dr. Ziegler has activated the Caudecus, and as the nanites do their work Hanzo feels the throbbing ease, feels his thoughts clear. He realizes--

The wave should be coming any moment now.

Hanzo spins on his heel, stares at the collapsed warehouse. There’s no light. It’s just a ruined building.

“Everythin’ okay, Han?” Jesse asks.

Hanzo nods. Winston’s device worked. Jesse is safe. The reset is not coming.

Hanzo finds himself braced for it anyway.

 

* * *

 

Six weeks.

They were gone for six weeks.

It’s colder now in Gibraltar. Jesse puts on a show of complaining, as if the weather was anything but mild.

Winston and some of the others stayed behind, to monitor the situation and provide what humanitarian aid they can. Vishkar’s taken a lashing in the news for the incident. It was assumed that the entire city was lost. It was a disaster on a scale that hadn’t been seen since the Crisis.

Rectified by Overwatch.

Hanzo thinks he should feel more about that. He should feel _something_ about that.

He should feel something about all the dust in their room, something about the thin evening light coming through the window, hours too early, as well.

But to feel something about it, it would have to be anything but impermanent. Hanzo can’t make himself trust that it will stay, even though he knows it will.

Hanzo grips Jesse’s hand too tightly.

 

* * *

 

Hanzo wakes with a strangled cry, jerking upright.

He casts out, his hand hitting something solid. He hisses in pain, snatching his hand back against his chest. A soft, warm light cuts through the darkness, throwing the room into focus.

It’s their room. At the Watchpoint.

“Hanzo?”

Jesse is laying beside him, looking up at him in bleary confusion. In the dream, and it was just a dream this time, Jesse was laying like that. Except, he was bleeding out again. This time, he was cursing Hanzo with his last breath, demanding to know why Hanzo had let this happen.

There isn’t enough air in the room. Hanzo can taste smoke, but there’s none. Still, even the memory makes his stomach churn.

Jesse blinks a few times, then slowly pushes himself up. Hanzo can only watch, frozen in place. It was just a dream. Jesse is here with him, alive. It’s over.

“Hanzo, we’re at the Watchpoint. We’re safe. I’m right here,” Jesse says softly and evenly.

He opens his arms, and Hanzo sinks into them. Clings shamelessly. Listens to Jesse’s heartbeat. Jesse cards his fingers through Hanzo’s hair and doesn’t say anything else.

“I thought I was back, under the warehouse,” Hanzo says eventually. Jesse squeezes him.

“But you got us out.”

“I didn’t!” Hanzo hisses. “Over and over, I failed, and I had to watch you--”

Hanzo chokes. Starts to pull away. Jesse tugs him back.

“Had to watch me?”

“Die,” Hanzo grits out. Hanzo feels Jesse tense.

“You didn’t tell me that.”

Hanzo shakes his head against Jesse’s chest. He couldn't bear to relive those memories yesterday, but it seems now he'll have no choice.

“I lost you so many times.”

“You didn’t when it mattered. You looked that disaster in the eye, and it blinked first.” Jesse reaches under Hanzo’s chin, tips his face up. “You did it.”

“It doesn’t feel like it,” Hanzo admits quietly.

“It will,” Jesse says with surety. “And I’ll be right here beside you all the while.”

Jesse kisses him. It doesn’t taste of blood or dust or mint. It’s not a promise he’ll break or a distraction from their predicament. Just Jesse, in the place they’ve made their home, kissing him for the sake of it, kissing him for the comfort of it. Because he’s here and he can and now they have all the time in the world.

Outside, a dawn Hanzo had lost hope in breaks.


End file.
